


The Storybrooke Academy of the Arts

by samiam17



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Performing Arts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiam17/pseuds/samiam17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome for the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. A boarding school where only the most talented and brightest attend. A spot in the Academy is a ticket to an amazing future in the fine arts… well, unless you’re Emma Swan. Emma’s parents run Storybrooke Academy of the Arts, which is the only reason she got in. Living in a school with such talented people when you’re just average really gets to Emma. She decides to hate everything about them, until a run-in with a certain Killian Jones helps her find her inner voice. </p><p>On the other hand, Will Scarlet is full to the brim with talent. He’s a genius on the trumpet, beating out all the older kids for solos and always making up his own tunes. Known for changing up the rules and rewriting sheet music, he’s built up quite the reputation as the improvisation king. Belle French, on the other hand, hates to climb outside the box. She’s happy being in the quiet writing department, keeping to herself and to her books. But when she learns that her stories are “too predictable” and “need an edge” she knows exactly who she’s going to turn to.</p><p>Read about what happens this year in Storybrooke Academy for the Arts.</p><p>Performing arts boarding school AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

2 Years Earlier

***

Emma Swan inhaled sharply when she woke up on that morning.

It looked and felt like just another day. Her bedroom was exactly the same. The poster of her favorite band, Running Space, was still halfway unsticking to her wall, her laptop was still turned on and hastily cast into the middle of the floor, and the closet was still filled to the brim with enough clothes for two people (mainly because Emma’s mother bought her daughter an entire wardrobe based on what she thought her daughter should be wearing and in retaliation, Emma bought her own).

But her familiar surroundings didn’t change the fact that today was the day. August 4th. The day everything would be different. The day that both of her parents had first put into their calendars at the start of the year, but they didn’t need a reminder. Emma knew from the day she was born her parents had both mentally cleared her schedule for more than fourteen years in the future so that she would never have any conflict with this one day.

Emma groaned and buried her head in her pillow, trying to block the path of sun streaming into her window so that she could convince herself it was still nighttime. That she still had a few hours left until she had to face this stupid day.

As much as she tried, though, she could not just pretend it wasn’t happening, not when she could smell the pleasing aroma of homemade waffles rising from the downstairs kitchen. Normally breakfast in the Swan household was an “every man for themselves” type of thing, where Emma’s mom normally heated up some instant oatmeal and Emma’s dad made himself a peanut butter sandwich and Emma ate whatever cereal she could find in the cupboard. Actually making breakfast like this was huge. It meant Christmas, birthdays, or… audition day.

Finally giving in, Emma pushed herself up with two hands and just sat on her bead for a minute. Everything was going to change after today and Emma really didn’t want that to happen. She was actually temped to sit there all day, staring at her band posters and goldfish swimming around in its little bowl, but (of course) her mom had to ruin it.

“Emma!” her mother called from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready!”

She sounded so happy. To Emma that was an act of betrayal. But the waffles were tempting to her rumbling stomach. She had skipped dinner last night, faking that she was too tired so that she could get out of going over what she would do for her audition the next day. Which was today. It was today.

“Give me a sec to get dressed!” Emma yelled back, sliding her legs off the edge of the bed and then actually standing up.

She passed the frilly, pink dress that her mother had suggested for the occasion and headed to her closet instead. The half filled with clothes her mom had picked out were either too girly, formal, or outdated. Emma avoided them like the plague. Her section, on the other hand, was consisted of edgy clothes that made her mother cringe. She picked out a pair of navy skinny jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt and smiled at the thought of how her mom would turn into the Hulk when she saw her outfit selection.

After quickly getting changed (and accidentally tripping over her laptop twice) Emma reluctantly headed down the stairs. Her mom was taking the last waffle out of the waffle iron and her father was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He put down the newspaper when he saw her.

“Good morning, honey.” he said out of routine, his eyebrow raised at her outfit, but he generally left that kind of stuff to his wife.

Emma sat down at the table across from him, just as her mother placed the towering stack of waffles in the middle of the space.

“We have some syrup in the fridge if you all want it and-“ Mrs. Swan’s natural smile turned into an uncharacteristic grimace when she saw Emma, “what are you wearing?”

Emma decided to play dumb. Looking at her outfit she feigned being puzzled, “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Mary Margaret was quick to compose herself, “It’s just that… I thought you would be wearing that nice dress we bought.”

We? Emma scoffed. She would have consented to wearing a dress, but the one that her mom picked out was beyond digression. She wouldn’t be caught dead in that pink monstrosity. “I decided to wear this.” She smoothed her hair down, not breaking her stare.

She could see her dad reposition himself uncomfortably at the other side of the table. He was probably bracing himself for another fight between the mother and daughter. It happened quite frequently these days. Of course Emma didn’t want it to be that way. She did love her mother, but in her opinion, Mary Margaret needed to realize that this was her life. Her mother was so controlling, always thinking that she was right, but Emma wanted to make her own decisions and make her own mistakes.

But today, it looked like her mother was in too good a mood to argue so Emma speared a waffle on the stack with her fork and brought it to her plate.

“I hear that we have the highest number of kids in the school’s history auditioning today.” David started, trying to make small talk, but sounding way too excited.

Mary Margaret grinned, “That’s amazing!”

But of course they had to be excited, they were the headmasters of the school. The school being the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. A critically acclaimed performing arts boarding school based in rural Maine where only the best and brightest in their respective talents attend. A spot in is a ticket to infinite success in the performing arts world. Anyone and everyone with a dream in the arts would want to go there.

Too bad Emma didn’t have one of those dreams.

She had never really wanted to go to the school anyway. Even though her parents had signed her up for painting classes since she was a kid, she still sucked at art. She was a failure at singing, her acting was average, she danced like she had two left feet, and she couldn’t write a story to save her life. She was probably the very first in the Swan family history to have zero talent. Yet her parents still insisted she was a painting genius and were practically forcing her to audition for the school for the art department.

Emma tuned out the chatter of her parents about the day to come. They would be key judges in deciding who was worthy to attend the school, which was the only reason that Emma would be getting in. She was a Swan and Swans always attend the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. She even technically lived on campus already, her family lived in a house just set aside from the dorms.

Eventually she couldn’t take it anymore. She had polished off her third waffle and twisted her blonde hair into a ponytail, muttering something about needing some fresh air.

As she crossed the threshold of her house she was plunged into “pre-fall”. The air was already crisp and the wind whistled past her ears, but Emma loved it all the same. Maine summers were shorter than in most places, not that she minded. It was only a short walk down a paved sidewalk to get to the main area of the campus. She could already hear the stray notes of musical instruments coming in from the front of the school. Normally she liked these events… almost. The people here were really talented and even though Emma hated talent, she was intrigued with what those who had it could do.

Plus she wanted to be around some people who didn’t know her as the headmasters’ daughter. Maybe even play pretend for a while that she was just as special as they were.

Once she turned a corner past one of the first dorms, she was right in the epicenter of the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. Cars were piled up in the parking lot and kids were bustling everywhere, most looking nervous about their upcoming auditions. They were wearing leotards and practicing dance routines. They were carefully carrying large canvases neatly tucked in protective bags. They were going over monologues and singing audition songs. It was organized chaos.

“Excuse me.” she muttered to the people on the outskirts of the throng while trying to get past. She wasn’t sure what or who she was looking for. She just let her feet lead her around the crowd.

She passed a girl was light brown, curly hair with a pad of paper and pencil who was sitting on one of the benches away from the people. The girl was madly scribbling words on the lines, looking like she was hit by inspiration. Emma wished that she could have that kind of creativity and was reminded why she hated talent. She didn’t want to say she was jealous, but she was always green with envy whenever she saw someone like that.

She would’ve left, but she found herself being swept up with a crowd, pushing her forward like she was standing in the middle of a churning river.

“Hey- watch it!” Emma growled. Her elbows flew from side to side as she tried to jostle her way to freedom. 

But it was to no avail, and the blonde was blown about twenty feet in front of her. When the pushing finally stopped, Emma looked forward to see that she had become a part of a mass of people forming a ring around a few kids. She was reminded of how people in cities would circle around street performers juggling axes or breakdancing.

But this was way better than any street performance she’d ever seen.

There was a kid playing a keyboard balanced on his lap. His fingers flew across the keys in a jazzy groove. There was a girl with dark hair and red streaks that blew a lazy tune through her saxophone, sounding beautiful. The sax complimented the drum beat that was tapped out by another kid.

There was nothing compared to the main attraction, though.

He was probably the one dressed closest to Emma. He wore a beat up leather jacket, worn jeans, and sneakers caked with dirt. His ears stuck at odd angles from his head in Emma’s opinion, but no one really noticed anything strange about him as he was playing his instrument. A trumpet was pressed to his lips and he was playing at a level better than those Emma had heard in professional recordings.

The trumpet’s notes were flawless, coming out of the instrument like clouds. Emma ranked this performance up near the best- and she had literally been dragged to every single concert the school had put on, so that was saying something. It was even enough to slowly disintegrate her frown and start her clapping along with the rest of the crowd.

“It’s cool- eh?” came a voice to her left.

Emma turned her head to see the speaker, and was immediately short of breath. He had spiky black hair, soulful dark eyes, and a bright red electric guitar slung over his shoulder. Once Emma took it all in, she immediately changed her mind about not being attracted to brunettes.  
The boy raised an eyebrow at her and Emma realized she was staring. Cheeks flushed she stuttered a, “Nothing, what’s up with you?”

He snickered like he knew something she didn’t, “I had said,” he started, “isn’t this cool?”  
Now Emma was sure that her cheeks were fire engine red and all alarms were going off in her head to flee the situation immediately. But she was in the middle of a jam packed crowd and there was nothing she could do to escape. And now she was sure she was going to make a fool out of herself.

“Yeah, super cool!” Emma said a little too eagerly and quickly. She couldn’t help it. The boy was making her heart race and she mentally cursed herself out for acting so un-cool around a boy. She never was like this before.

The brunette nodded, a smirk still etched on his face, “I’m Killian Jones by the way.”

“I’m Emma… um…” Emma wasn’t sure how to end it. Would Killian recognize the famous ‘Swan’ last name? And if he did would that be good or bad? Bad probably… right? Killian raised his perfect eyebrow once again, waiting for a response. She awkwardly giggled and forced her mouth into a grin, “Yes, I’m Emma.”

“Okay, cool.” He looked back at the performers, who were reaching a climax in their improvised piece. Trumpet boy was hitting seriously high notes and the people watching were going wild. And to her own surprise, Emma was cheering on too. And she was enjoying herself.  
“Wow, they all are really good.” She said, almost to herself.

Killian nodded in agreement, “They are, aren’t they?” He paused, “But they’re missing something.”

Emma cocked her head, “What are they missing?”

The boy had shifted his red guitar into the playing position and smirked at the girl, “Me.”

And with that Killian slid through the crowd and into the musicians’ territory. He winked at Emma which made even her ears redden. Curse her stupid pale skin!

“What key?” she heard him ask the trumpeter. 

The other boy took the instrument from his lips and grinned, “Alright! We needed a guitar- the key’s A flat, mate.”

And then Killian was strumming along like he had been with them the whole time. He kept on looking up and smiling at Emma and eventually, she stopped blushing and smiled back. She liked being able to disappear in the crowd. She liked pretending that she was one of the worthy enough to even think to audition for the school.

But, of course, all good things end. It seemed some more quickly than others.

Emma was almost unaware that the music had spluttered to a stop. She was still tapping her feet and clapping to now a nonexistent rhythm. Then she felt the slight pressure of a tap on her shoulder. Spinning around, her heart sank in her chest that she was face to face with her parents.

“Hey, Emma!” Her mother smiled and started the conversation like there wasn’t a huge crowd of possible students watching her every move, “You forgot this at home, sweetie. Wouldn’t want to not have your wonderful masterpiece to present for your audition.”

She became even more humiliated when she saw that her mom was carrying Emma’s best acrylic painting (which wasn’t saying much) in her hands. It was a dragon, coiling itself up into a ball. There were so many things wrong with it, and Emma knew enough about art to know all the flaws in her painting. The lines were too thick, the shading was barely there, and the dragon’s eyes were looking in two different directions. So much for pretending to be a talented student, now before the first day even hit Emma was pegged as the headmasters’ daughter. She already heard a few snickers that couldn’t go unsuppressed. Great. Just great.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father climbing onto one of the benches to give the welcome speech to the prospective students. But all Emma heard was wind rushing past her ears and all she could see was her mother who was standing right next to her and the troubled expression on Killian Jones’ face.

Had she mentioned that she hated this school?


	2. Chapter 2

As the kingdom grew larger and larger in the distance her hope grew in her heart. It had been so long since the princess had cast eyes on her beloved homeland. All those years of waiting and wishing on her lucky stars had finally come true. Nothing could bring down her spirits as the soft winds lifted her hair and the salty spray of the sea sprinkled across her nose.

And as the royal boat coated across the seas of her kingdom, she finally felt like she belonged.

Belle lifted her fingers from her laptop and smiled in satisfaction. She had spent all night slaving over her short story project and she was extremely happy with how it turned out. She had just finished reading it over all the way through after she got ready for the day (Belle had after all done a lot of work during the night so she was half awake for most of it). She chomped on the green apple she had snagged from the cafeteria as she hit the ‘print’ icon on the software. Next to her the printer whirred to life and started chugging out the pages of her short story. Belle ran her finger over one of the freshly inked pieces of her work. In her opinion, there was nothing better than the feeling of getting your own original work from your head out onto paper. It was like turning something pretend into something real.

She stood up from her chair at her cluttered desk, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her fingers at the top. Typing for so long could really give one’s hand a cramp. As she bit into her apple again, she turned in a circle to inspect her room. Belle’s eyes drifted over a slightly unmade bed, a side table with a monstrous stack of books towering on it, and the wall, which was covered in pictures with her family on a cork board. She walked over to it and touched one of her favorite pictures- her entire family laughing as they were camped out to wait for the book signing of their favorite book. When people ask her how she became such a bookworm, she just replies she was raised that way.

Through her open door she was all the girls of her floor rushing to and fro, trying to get ready for the day. There were constant shouts of: “Who took my perfume?” and “Does anyone have a hair curler I can borrow?” and “Is this outfit to formal to wear?”. Belle had grown accustomed to it. Living in a boarding school was like living with a crazy number of sisters. Every morning was utter chaos. But Belle, she was happy with just wearing a pair of boyfriend jeans and a white blouse and minimal makeup. Her crazy curls longed to be straightened, but Belle really didn’t have time to do something like that. With her curls, getting them straight would take 45 minutes.

The printer sputtered to a stop and Belle grinned excitedly as she delicately handled her stack of papers and fastened them into a yellow binding cover- her signature color. She slipped her masterpiece into her canvas messenger school bag and sat on her bed to wait for Ruby, her always running late roommate. Belle had already polished off her apple and thrown it into the waste basket when Ruby came frantically rushing in slightly sideways as she had one high heeled boot on and the other in her hand. She also was trying to hook on large black hoop earrings in the process.

“Girl, you look like you just got out of a particularly lethal cat fight.” Belle laughed while shaking her head.

“I can always count on you to make jerky metaphors, huh, bookworm?” Ruby snapped, “Now help me!”

Belle smiled, while at first she was really intimidated by Ruby, her roommate helped her break out of her shell and become a little more confident. Most people thought that her red-streaked friend was a bit too much, Belle was the only one who got to see a different side of her (due to the fact that they had shared a room since freshman year). Ruby was always loyal to her friends, no matter what.

And Belle would always be her loyal personal stylist in the mornings.

“Are you sure you want to wear these boots?” Belle asked as she knelt down to help her into the tall, black boots with massive heels, “The heel is humungous!”

Ruby shook her head at her friend, like she was the teacher and Belle was the poor student who didn’t understand the lesson, “They make me look hot, Belle.”

Belle slightly opened her mouth, but thought twice and bit back the words or completely slutty. She had heard the lecture long ago. Apparently the boys in the music department were way hotter than the three guys that were in the creative writing department. Belle never really had to worry about impressing guys because she pretty much attended classes with mostly girls. Plus, she didn’t think that she would want to go through all the trouble Ruby did anyway. Was a boy really worth changing who you are? Belle thought not.

But she could agree with Ruby in that the boys in the music department were drop dead gorgeous. Killian Jones had the whole ‘mysterious and misunderstood handsome’ type thing going on. He even got his ears pierced over the summer- which just added to the hotness. He was the type of guy that all the girls in the dorms would drool over during late night gossip sessions packed in someone’s room. And whenever he played at the school’s coffee corner (known to the students as “The Corner”) that doubled as a performance center, all the girls would show up with their best makeup on. Belle had hardly talked to the guy, he was sort of exclusive, but she got the impression that all the attention he was getting from the ladies was starting to go to his head.

Killian also happened to be Ruby’s ultimate goal. She didn’t really talk to Belle about the stuff she did with boys (because she knew that Belle would never approve), but Belle was almost positive Ruby and him had hooked up once or twice. It just made Belle disappointed. Ruby deserved a man who would treat her like a prince in fairy tale books. Being a writer, Belle would always compare real life to the worlds dreamed up on the pages of a book. And in the books, the princess would always get the prince, so she was happy waiting for her prince to come. She didn’t want to rush the plot, plus the gallant man always emerges in the least likely of times when they are written by a brilliant author.

“So did you finish your big story?” Ruby asked nonchalantly as she applied some dark lipstick in front of the small dorm mirror mounted on the wall.

“I did, and I couldn’t be happier!” Belle replied, clutching the papers close to her chest as she lingered by the doorway. She knew that they were running low on time and normally she hated the prospect of being late, but today was looking so bright. Finishing a story always made her so excited. It was the closing of one idea and the start of a new. And she already had a bunch of ideas for a new tale.

Ruby nodded, capping the lipstick and kissing the back of her hand to get rid of the excess film. She grabbed her messenger bag and her saxophone case and headed to where Belle was standing. The two left their room with a crowd of other girls, chatting as they went along.

“So you are coming tonight, right?” Ruby asked as she shoved her way through a group of giggling freshmen.

“Coming to what?” Belle was trying to mimic her friend’s steps, but she just wasn’t the type to push through a crowd so she stayed about six feet behind Ruby. Navigating the girls’ dorm hallway in the morning was like trying to wade upstream in a powerful river.

Ruby rolled her eyes and turned her neck to the side to see Belle way back in the hall, “My jazz concert at The Corner!”

“Oof!” Belle hissed as a girl’s clarinet case jabbed into her ribs, “I don’t know, Rubes…”

Ruby huffed, “Okay this isn’t working.” She reached back with her arm and literally pulled Belle through the crowd in front of her. Then, Belle was dragged to the side door exit and was finally outside and safe from the crazy crowd.

 

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’?” Ruby snapped as they continued on their way outside and down the path to the arts department.

Belle shrugged, “You know that kind of stuff is not my thing.”

Ruby shook her head, “You promised that you’d go to one of my jazz concerts like last week!”

Belle thought back, “That’s just because you told me that the only way you’d give me back my laptop was if I promised.”

“So you admit you promised.”

“That’s not fair!”

The girl with the red-streaked hair raised her hands in the air in exasperation, “Yes it is, Belle!” then she calmed down a bit, “You’re my friend. I want you to have fun this year.”

“I do have fun.” Belle kicked a pebble on the ground.

“All you do is type on that little laptop of yours and keep your nose stuck in some sort of classic work of literature! It’s our junior year and I insist that you get out of your own little world and live a little.”

Belle raised an eyebrow at her friend.

Ruby smiled, “Glad we discussed this. See you after dinner at The Corner! Don’t be late- it should be packed!” And with that Ruby sped away from Belle and in the direction of the music classrooms, her saxophone case swinging back and forth.

“Wait- Ruby?!” Belle shouted, “I didn’t agree to anything!” But the other girl was just disappearing through the door of the music department. The bookworm sighed in defeat and continued to the writing classrooms.

It wasn’t that Belle didn’t have fun. She had lots of fun, right?

Sure she didn’t really like to go to dances (Who really would? The dance students showed everybody up anyway). And she wasn’t exactly a fan of parties or get-togethers outside of the school. And sports games were way to hectic for her too. But she had fun her own way. Curled up with a book in her bed with a hot cup of hot chocolate. And Belle wasn’t antisocial, just a bit… shy? Nothing to be ashamed of. Just a little anxious when it came to putting herself out there with a group of people. What if she did something wrong? Or wore the wrong outfit? Or said the wrong thing? It was too much stress. And the characters in her books wouldn’t judge her. Scout Finch, Juliet Capulet, and Hermione Granger would never call her a buzzkill. So why risk being with people who would?

Belle continued on the path through the gorgeous campus of the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. The buildings on all sides of her looked like houses. It was helpful to cure the homesickness on those bad days where all Belle wanted to do was sit with her mom and watch movies all night. Of course she could call home, but it just wasn’t the same…

In the center of the entire campus was a huge bulletin board covered with layers upon layers of paper. Students post things there all the time. Anything from how a dance crew was going to be performing soon or a job opportunity nearby.

Today as she turned her head to scan the flyers for events she would never attend, someone was blocking her view. A certain figure with a leather jacket was stapling up a neon green paper in the very center of the board- it stood out from all the other bland colors like a black sheep.

When the person turned slightly to shove the stapler back in his backpack, Belle caught a glimpse of him and slightly gasped.

It was Will Scarlet.

He was back.

When one of the most talented people in the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts doesn’t show up for the first three weeks of the new school year, rumors start to fly around like a swarm of bees. Some said that he had switched to a normal school back where he used to live. Some said he had dropped out of high school altogether. Belle had heard one crazy rumor that he was taking time off to tour with Fall Out Boy as a trumpet player.

And Belle, being the story teller she was, found these rumors really enjoyable. Tall tales and such. She hadn’t been worried about her classmate at all, until Ruby expressed her concerns.

“It’s just not like him to skip all this school.” Belle’s roommate had relayed one night with a troubled expression, “This school is the closest thing he has to a home and he lives for playing the trumpet. Only Killian knows what happened and he’s not telling anyone. I’m kinda worried about him.”

Ruby was normally the one to start rumors, so this was completely out of character for her. She was also in music classes with Will and was involved in jazz band with him too. They knew each other really well.

So with Ruby’s comments in her mind, Belle’s over-active imagination went to serious extremes to think of what had happened to the trumpeter. She had thought of him becoming lost in the woods over summer vacation and got completely lost- maybe he hadn’t even been found yet. Then there was the whole ‘got accepted into Hogwarts’ classic idea as well. That Will had left them all to be a wizard.

But there he was, standing right in front of her. Belle didn’t realize the danger she had put herself in. Because he turned around to leave and caught her staring at him.

Even though every fiber of her being was screaming at her to turn away, she couldn’t. Belle was a writer, so she noticed things. If she was doing a character description of Will Scarlet she would emphasize the huge blotchy bruise that covered his left cheek and the jagged line of a healing scar with fresh stitches above his right eyebrow. Those most certainly were not there last year when Belle had seen him last.

“Um… can I help you?”

It took a second for Belle to fully realize that he was talking to her. When she did, her cheeks flushed fire engine red and she bit her lip.

“N-n-nope.” she stammered, “I was just… looking at the bulletin board.”

Will half chuckled and half sighed at the same time, “Alright then. See you around.” He grabbed his beat-up trumpet case and started in the direction where Ruby had left her for the music department. Belle inhaled sharply when she noticed that the boy was limping slightly. That was new as well.

With curiosity driving her, Belle stepped up to the bulletin and trained her eyes to the new neon green paper. It said, in dark Sharpie ink:

RIDE NEEDED  
TO GO TO BOSTON AND BACK  
EVERY OTHER WEEKEND  
SEE WILL SCARLET FOR DETAILS  
888-888-8888

Why would Will need to go to Boston? Belle thought. An idea for a detective tale already taking shape in her mind.

As the young detective looked at the evidence written clearly on the sheet of paper, she knew exactly who had committed the murder. The criminal may have evaded the police, but no one could stop this teenage investigator. She searched the streets left and right to see if the criminal was near the scene, but the entire block was empty.

Wait, empty? Belle shook herself out of her daydream and looked all around and realized that she was, in fact, the sole person out on the campus. She was late!

“Oh, no!” She muttered under her breath. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hair flew behind her as she raced to the creative writing class. Ms. Mills would flip out at her!

Belle swung into the writing department “house”, took the stairs two at a time, and slid into her desk on the third floor workshop area…. just as the late bell reverberated through the halls.

She could see the disappointment on Ms. Mills’s face as Belle narrowly escaped being late. Not because she had wanted her to be on time, but because she couldn’t give her detention for coming in late. 

“Thank god you made it!” a voice to her right hissed, “The Evil Queen was going to throw a desk or something.”

It was Archie, her best friend in the creative writing class. Archie was a genuine nerd. Glasses and puffy, sandy hair to go along with the stereotype. He wanted to be a science fiction writer when he grew up or write fantasy with dragons and knights and such. Belle believed in him. She was always the first to read his stories and she had already fallen in love with the novel that Archie had written over the summer. When he had emailed it to her, Belle had stayed up all night to finish reading it.

“Well it’s good that I made it then, the Evil Queen is now powerless.”

Archie grinned at the statement. ‘Evil Queen’ was a nickname for Ms. Mills that Archie and Belle had come up with freshman year right when they started in the creative writing department. At first, when Belle had learned that her instructor was going to be Regina Mills, a very successful romance author, she was overwhelmed with joy. Belle wanted to write romance when she was older and she thought that Ms. Mills would be able to work with her one-on-one to help with her scenes and characters.

Boy was she wrong.

Ms. Mills may have been a genius writer, but she was a scary teacher. She would yell at students if they didn’t know an answer, give detentions out like she had an endless supply, and grade really tough on projects.

Belle had learned early on not to ask any questions in Ms. Mills’s class. Just take notes and keep her head down. It wasn’t that Ms. Mills was a bad teacher, Belle was learning so much from the class, but she had a horrible temper. She would lash out at completely random times on undeserving students. 

“Well, now that everyone is here,” Ms. Mills started, glaring at Belle who gulped, “Today we are going to be learning about suspense in the in the form of moving the danger closer and closer to the main character…”

Belle’s mind was in another world as she hastily scribbled down notes with her fountain pen (she only used pen- never pencil). She couldn’t help but be intensely interested in what was going on with Will Scarlet. Did Ruby know now? Was he telling anybody? How did he get hurt? And why did he want to go to Boston so frequently?

Ms. Mills always said that the best way to start a story was by asking questions, but Belle had pounds of questions and hardly any answers. Plus, she had one really burning question in the back of her mind: why did he make her cheeks flush and her heart beat so fast? Will must have gotten ten times cuter over the summer, even if he also now had a serious bruise and gash and whatever else he could have been hiding.

With so much to focus on, class flew by and before Belle could even start putting the puzzle pieces together, the bell was ringing once again.

She was piling up her notebooks to put in her backpack when she heard Ms. Mills’s voice at the front of the classroom saying, “See me at my desk, Belle.”

Archie snickered, “Looks like you aren’t going to get off scratch-free for the almost late thing.”

“Darn it.” Belle sighed, “Okay, save me a seat in biology.”

With an affirmative nod from her friend, Belle headed to the front of the classroom. She stood in front of the Evil Queen’s desk and swallowed hard, “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes, I did.” Seeing Ms. Mills up close was way more intimidating than sitting at the back of a classroom and looking at her from a distance. Belle could see that she was very stylish. She wore either nice pantsuits or a colored shirt and a form-fitting skirt. Everything she owned must have been specifically tailored to her. She had jet-black hair that came to about her shoulders and her eyes could have been close to purple at that moment as she stared down at Belle, “I was reviewing the rough drafts for the short story project I assigned.”

Oh, so it wasn’t about almost being tardy, Belle thought. She had just finished the final copy that morning. It wasn’t actually due for two more days, but she had wanted Archie to look at it first, they always did that. “Yes.” she said aloud.

“When I got to yours, I had a certain déjà vu if you will.”

Belle raised a thin eyebrow, “Why is that?”

“Well, for starters, this is the sixth princess you’ve used as the main character since you started taking this program in freshman year.”

Belle could feel the nerves racing through her body, making the hair on her arms stand on end. Was the teacher going to yell at her? She just kept her mouth shut so Ms. Mills could continue and Belle wouldn’t start crying.

“Also, your stories always follow the same pattern. The girl either has an arranged marriage, a disapproving father, or some other situation so that when she meets her true love it is a forbidden romance. And not that I hate a good happy ending, but whenever you write a story they seem a bit cliche. And that’s the main problem, whenever you write a story there are no surprises. You write what I like to call ‘transparent books’ in that if the reader wanted to, they could look at the first page and see the ending.”

“What are you trying to say?” Belle’s voice cracked and she tried to get rid of the lump in her throat.

Ms. Mills slightly smiled, “You have a lot of talent to become a great author. Your characterizations, dialog, and setting descriptions are quite nice, but you need to add some punch to your stories. That’s why I’m suggesting you start over on your project.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide, “What?”

“Yes, because now that this is junior year, I’m really focusing on how students are creating full, put-together, stories. Not individual scenes.”

Belle had trouble finding her voice, “I don’t think I understand.”

“You are very talented, Belle French, if you weren’t you would not have been accepted into this rigorous program of study,” Ms. Mills stared straight through her student, “But you tend to have predictable stories that are just, may I be blunt, not enjoyable to read.”

The comment was like a slap in the face to the high school junior. Ms. Mills was a well-respected author who, even when she was being most intolerable, Belle looked up to. Now she was saying that she hated the work that she was proud of?

“So I’m giving you as much time as you need to turn in a new assignment. Understand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm so excited that so many people are liking my story :)  
> Please comment, leave kudos, subscribe, and bookmark if you would like to see some more chapters.  
> Thanks again!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE remember to read the chapter notes at the end :)

Emma hated living at the Storybooke Academy of the Arts. She hated the people. She despised the classes. She detested the teachers.

As she sat in the cafeteria she plugged in her earbuds and started listening to her favorite band, Running Space, on the loudest volume possible.

She craves the affection  
Loves the attention  
And I see her walking in my direction

Emma tried to lose herself in the song, which would normally work any day but today.

Because today, more than the standard annoyances in the school, she hated the fall art showcase.

She took out her anger on a defenseless meatball in her bowl. Stabbing her fork into the meal of spaghetti and meatballs with enough force to shake the long table she was sitting at- alone. She wished that the food was actually her canvas project, she wished that she could slice through the darned thing. Emma wanted so bad for her “masterpiece” to go up in flames. That way she wouldn’t have to show it for the big showcase. That way she wouldn’t get humiliated in front of her entire class.

The showcase was a huge event for art students at the school. It was a chance to show the rest of the school what they have been working on. Art and visual media was definitely not the most flashy out of the departments in the school. You can go watch performances almost every day at the school ranging from ballet to Caribbean music to a poetry slam. So most of the time Emma could get away with staying under the radar and just not showing anyone any piece of art she had been assigned to complete. That is, until the seasonal showcases come along.

For most art students the showcases are what they looked forward to all year long. They painted multiple canvases and molded beautiful works of pottery and filled up entire sketchbooks with charcoal drawings just to have the chance to have something- anything- shown at the big showcase. Every student from the school would show up and faculty would also invite their famous friends to look at the art as well. The showcases were the best way for an art student to get discovered and make it to the big time.

Of course, getting someone distinguished in the art field to like one of your paintings would require that the said artist needed actual talent, something Emma knew she has none of… but that didn’t stop her parents (also known as the headmasters of the school) from pulling a few strings to get one of her canvases to be put in the show. Ever since they announced the list of students who would be exhibiting at the fall showcase first period, Emma heard whispers about “mommy’s little girl” all throughout the halls.

And her mom wondered why Emma didn’t have any friends at the school…

As she gulped down another forkful of spaghetti, a bunch of kids from the table near her started to burst into laughter. Turning over her shoulder, Emma could see the table was full of people from her art class. They had sketchbooks sprawled all over the table and wore knit beanies and baggy jeans (in Emma’s opinion they tried way too hard to be hipsters). They continued laughing and pointing in Emma’s direction, so she figured she was the punchline to the joke. And Neal Cassidy was in the center of it all.

Emma quickly turned back around and stared into her spaghetti. She would have expected this teasing from most of her classmates, but it broke her heart to see Neal facilitating the entire thing.

Emma did have friends, once. Well, a single friend. Neal was the first person she talked to in Art 1 freshman year. He didn’t care that her parents ran the school and he wasn’t jealous like most of the other students. Their friendship quickly turned to romance during the end of freshman year and the better part of sophomore year. Emma thought they would be together forever (cheesy, she knew, but that was exactly how she felt). She and Neal liked all the same things and he really understood her. But long story short, Neal was playing her like a fiddle to try to get special treatment from her parents. Emma had thought that they really had something, but he betrayed her trust. She’s never felt the same way about anyone else.

“Hey, Swan,” a voice, his voice, came from next to her.

Emma glanced up, not meeting Neal’s eyes, and turned right back to her meal. Hadn’t he messed with her life enough? But she played it off like she didn’t care, as she did pretty much all the time. She pretended she didn’t care that she was eating alone. She pretended she didn’t care that she wasn’t as good at painting as the other kids. She pretended that she didn’t care that most people in the school were really mean because of who her parents are, “What do you want, Cassidy?” Emma acted uninterested as she pulled out her ear buds and paused the song she was listening to.

If Neal was bothered that she didn’t respond with a snappy retort, he didn’t show it. A mischievous glint appeared in his deep brown eyes. Emma remembered how much she used to love those eyes. “I heard your painting was accepted into the fall showcase.”

“Mmm hmm.” She took another bite of spaghetti and hoped that the conversation would end right there. Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly how Neal Cassidy rolled.

“Yeah, what was that painting of again?” Neal smirked, “Was it a turtle or something? It certainly looked like one.”

Suddenly Emma could feel all the eyes of the school on her. Being the daughter of the principals she was for the most part used to that, but this was different. Everyone was watching to see how she was going to react. The volume had been turned down completely in the cafeteria, everyone tuning in to hear what was going to happen. She took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, “It’s actually a bird, Neal.”

He laughed loudly, throwing back his head. Emma knew exactly what he was doing, he was putting on a show… for the entire freakin’ school! And all at Emma’s expense.

“Are you sure? Because I’ve seen it- and that’s definitely not what a bird is shaped like.”

“Yeah, it is, actually.” Emma was quick to defend herself, even though she knew as well as he did that her bird looked like a fat pillow with wings. But she wasn’t going to let him have that satisfaction.

“Whatever you say-“ Then he paused and forcibly pushed his hand on her table, rocking it slightly, “principal’s daughter.”

The second that Neal walked away victoriously to his friends was when the laughing and the clapping started. It seemed like the entire school was rooting for Neal. Every fiber of her being wanted to run- flee that stupid cafeteria with those stupid, stuck-up, talented people right away. But she knew that if she did, she would be made fun of even more. Emma could just picture Neal taunting her about being a crybaby.

Great. Just great.

Emma could just about scream at that point. She was absolutely done with all of the stupid competition that came with going to an arts school. She was seriously considering vandalizing the art classrooms with spray paint- her parents would be forced to expel her. Emma could leave this whole place behind.

Except there was the fact that she would be living on campus with her parents, regardless of being expelled or not. At least in the dorms Emma could avoid her parents for the most part.

But there was no avoiding all the laughing and snickers and whispers coming from all angles in the cafeteria. Every eye in the school was on her at this moment.

She was just about to stand up and yell at everyone to mind their own business (something she’d had to do on multiple occasions) when suddenly everyone’s attention shifted. Emma felt her head being pulled with the crowd as she looked over her shoulder to the entrance of the cafeteria.

Even someone as far out of the social circles as Emma knew all about the mystery of Will Scarlet.

When he hadn’t come to school for the first week back of the year, people assumed he was just on a vacation and would be back any day. Once the second and third week hit with still no sign of the genius trumpet player, people almost became obsessed with the whole ordeal.

Rumors spread like wildfires and all everyone wanted to know was why he hadn’t come back yet. All the teachers said that he was still enrolled. Will was supposed to be in Emma’s history class and his name was still announced at roll call. The first seat in the band’s trumpet section still remained empty, waiting for him to return. Will was on everyone’s minds, yet he was nowhere to be seen… until right now.

There were a few gasps. There were a few whispers. But all eyes were trained to the doorway where Will Scarlet was sort of standing by himself, but mostly leaning on his best friend’s shoulder. Killian Jones was carrying both his guitar case and Will’s trumpet case in one hand to balance the trumpeter’s weight.

Emma had only seen him, for the most part, onstage blasting expressive music or across the cafeteria hall, but she knew that he did not look the same as he did before.

There was a bruise encircling his eye and a small scar under the other to match. Judging from the way he leaned on Killian for support, his foot wasn’t in good shape either. Emma felt like she was acting with the entire school as she looked Will up and down to assess the injuries. What had happened to the star music student of the academy?

Will let out a combination of a laugh and a cough. He gave a slight wave with the hand he wasn’t using to keep his balance and said, “Hey guys- I’m back.”

The room sort of erupted into claps. The kind of clapping that you get after a dance recital or a home run in a baseball game. Will crookedly smiled and let Killian lead him to the nearest table where he was immediately swarmed by questioning students. Out of the corner of her eye Emma spotted Ruby Lucas unbutton another shirt button before she rushed over to see him. It made Emma snicker a bit. That girl was always dying for attention.

Emma used this as an opportunity to leave immediately while everyone was paying attention to Will.

She grabbed her backpack from the ground and hoisted it onto her shoulder. Then, she gathered up her empty dishes and carried everything to the bin that held all the dirty plates and such. After they settled in with the rest with a clammer, she quickly turned around to get the heck out of this place… and spun right into a plate of mashed potatoes and barbecue pulled pork.

“Ugh!” Emma reacted as the soggy food flew into her hair, all over her face, and created stains on her plain white shirt. She felt the meal even seep into her shoes as she was now stepping in a puddle of what looked like vanilla pudding as well.

“Oh no.”

Emma jumped once she heard the deep voice. For the first time realizing that she was not alone and that she had bumped into someone else’s tray.

She tilted her head and looked up into the dark- almost black, Emma realized- eyes of Killian Jones. His raven hair half-swept into his forehead and his eyebrows raised in surprise. Emma knew a lot about romance movies (having watched them alone in her room almost every day while others had parties and rehearsals) and she was sure that this would be the moment when the two leads met and the initial spark was set off.

Unfortunately, it looked like Killian was thinking a different idea.

After muttering a few curses under his breath that took Emma by surprise, he lunged towards the napkin dispenser and started frantically pulling those thin napkins by the dozen.

“I am so so sorry.” Killian started as he started to wipe the globs of food off her shoulders, “I can’t believe I did this!”

Emma bit her lip to try not to smile. Because normal girls who got dumped on with food tended to be more on the angry side. Emma was just happy for once to have a guy be nice to her and care enough to scramble and get her clean.

“It’s okay,” Emma replied while trying to make a joke, “All I need is a fork and spoon and I could have a second lunch.” She gestured to the piles of mashed potatoes that were filling the pockets of her jeans.

Sadly, it looked like Emma’s attempt at humor just made Killian freak out more, “Wait- no one can see this.” He hissed, desperately twisting over both of his shoulders to see if anyone was watching. Luckily it looked like his roommate’s ‘revival from the dead’ was occupying all the student body’s attention.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to be more humiliated today. A little food isn’t going to- woah!” Emma exclaimed as she was pulled by the arm around a corner, out of the cafeteria, and through a short hallway that led them outside. Emma left a trail of sloppy lunch food behind her, reminding her of the story of Hansel and Gretel. 

Killian was still holding her hand when they were standing side by side in the fall breeze and it made Emma’s stomach flutter with the strength of a thousand butterflies.

Which was only multiplied to about a million butterflies when Killian leaned back, slipped off his leather jacket, and gently draped it over Emma’s shoulders. It was warm and smelled like soap. Right before Emma was about to let go of that forced grimace and finally smile she was immediately taken aback by Killian.

It looked like he wasn’t interested in talking or hanging out. He wrung his hands through his hair and stared up at the sky muttering: “I can’t believe out of all the people I could dump my lunch on it has to be the principals’ daughter!”

A pang of hurt raced through Emma’s body. Of course it would all have to circle back to her parents. Everything did.

“Are your parents going to kick me out of school for this?” Killian questioned, eyes wide.

Emma’s cheeks burned red once again, “No, of course not.” she said to her shoes.

The guitarist let out a shaky sigh of relief, “That’s good. Either way I think this whole ordeal should stay our little secret, you know?”

Emma raised an eyebrow unsure of what he was talking about.

“If this gets out- that I flung my food onto the headmasters’ daughter- then I’d be on their bad side. And I don’t want an accident like this to ruin my chances for when I apply for the jazz conservatory internship senior year.” Killian explained, “If they have a bias against me, I’d never get chosen. So could you just make this our little secret?”

Emma was shocked. The events of the past ten minuted morphed from the coolest moment of her school year to confirming her deepest fears. Killian had said he didn’t want her to get upset about the mess so she wouldn’t go to her parents and complain about him. No one talked to Emma because they worried about it reflecting bad on them? What kind of girl did everyone think she was?

She wasn’t sure if Killian remembered, but Emma surely did. That audition day before everyone found out about her parentage. People liked her and wanted to talk to her. She had thought while chatting with Killian that she had found her first real friend in the Storybrooke Academy of the Arts. Once she met him she had given herself the hope that maybe the school wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Of course, once her mom and dad crawled into the picture the lighting shifted. And even the one person in the school who actually knew what the ‘real Emma’ was like without the shadow of her parents on top didn’t interact with her whatsoever.

She looked up at Killian’s eager expression and said truthfully, “Who would I tell?”

Killian physically relaxed. His fists unclenched and his muscles (which Emma could now admire without the obstruction of his jacket) stopped their tensing. “Great! I mean seriously, thanks.”

“No problem.” Emma muttered.

At this point even Killian could sense the awkwardness between them, “Okay…” he started, “well I’m starved and there’s only a few minutes left in lunch so I think I’m going to get another tray.”

“Sure.” Emma refused to meet his eyes.

Killian walked a few steps to the door and held it open, “After you.” he grinned, like he hadn’t just completely insulted her.

She shook her head, “No thanks.” She couldn’t bring herself to go back to the cafeteria now. With this horrible encounter with Killian added to all the drama about the fall showcase, Emma was sure she was despised by every single student in the school at that moment. “I think I’ll stay out here.” she decided.

Killian’s eyebrows elevated in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Emma confirmed as she started to shrug off his jacket, already feeling an autumn chill on her shoulders.

The musician’s hands went up, palms forward as to say ‘stop’. “Keep the jacket, I insist. I ruined your shirt after all.”

Emma just stared.

In response he shoved his hands into his jean pockets and slightly smiled, “Okay well I suppose I’ll see you at The Corner? There’s a big jazz concert tonight. You should come?”

He asked it like a question and Emma surprised herself by answering with a quick, “Sure.”

“Great. I’ll see you soon.”

And with that Killian Jones walked across the threshold and into the cafeteria building, the door swinging shut behind him.

And Emma stood outside, alone, clutching her new leather jacket and not knowing what to believe about that certain boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I know it's been a long time since I've updated this, but truth is, I have more than 90 pages written. I'm thinking of turning it into an original fiction that I can publish.
> 
> If I do end up publishing, I will advertise it here so if any of you wanted to read, you could.
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your support with my story. I would never have gotten this far without you all :)  
> -Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first chapter. I hope you all have liked it. Please comment, leave kudos, and bookmark.  
> Bye! :)  
> -Sam


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